


Dream a Dream

by aleatoryGambit (orionCipher)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Implied Relationships, Ouroboros Remix, Voyeurism I Guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 10:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionCipher/pseuds/aleatoryGambit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John is where he has no business going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream a Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunspeared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunspeared/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Outside and Within](https://archiveofourown.org/works/308607) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> I'm so sorry.  
> I really hope I didn't muck this up too much...

You feel like a pervert.  


It’s not like you _want_ to be here, not like you _try_ to follow your dearest ectosister down this rabbit hole when the dream bubbles hit; you just _do_. (You’ve got a theory going that it’s due to your proximity, but after everything you two have been through and seen there’s no way you’ll risk sleeping alone.) Releasing a tired sigh you let yourself fall butt-first onto the wet sand, safely hidden behind a clumping of the porous, jagged rocks that dot the dream beach you seriously tire of finding yourself on. Your name is John Egbert, and you are far too familiar with this dream bubble and where it leads.  


The sunset is a bloom of citrine and muddled oranges with thick streaks of blood dripping like rubies at the horizon, and the further away from the glaring ball of flaming gases you look, the more bruised and battered the sky becomes until there’s nothing left but an array of sugar dotted plums and smudged, inky clouds dancing languidly on the cool, brackish breeze. It’s so ingrained in your mind that you don’t even have to pry open your eyes to see it.  


But you do.  


Like a train wreck at an orphanage run by disabled nuns, you can never peel your eyes off for long. Beneath the white noise of the familiar waves is the subtle, crisp swish of movement – miniscule breaks in the frothy white crests as luscious pitch swirls and tangles madly in prelude to the first troll you ever actually feared. Jade’s told you a bit about her in passing, in the random-start-haphazard-stop-monologues that you’ve all become accustomed to in lieu of true conversations: Her Imperial Condescension Feferi Peixes former future empress of Alternia, aka, the dead troll girl Jade is maybe almost friendly-ish friends with, except when she’s head over heels in hate with her for always ruining her good naps with the whole depressing dead thing. Karkat would probably make some seething comment about quadrant flipping and forbidden interspecies make outs and his terrible romcoms, but your way is definitely much better.  


She’s big – all toned muscles and sturdy frame, complete with massive feet and impressive hands, thinly webbed and heartily clawed, like some aquatic Amazon, and even with the strands of ragged kelp dragging in her hair and those empty opalescent eyes and that horrifying view port that’s made its home in her torso, her inherent ferocity refuses to waver. She could snap you both in two if she wanted, and would probably at least mangle you beyond recognition if she knew you were here like a voyeur.  


You reel in your wandering reminiscence when Jade darts into the water, saline bloating her weathered jeans through the knees and spraying the hem of her faded tee in the moments it takes to whisk the sea witch to shore and half-drag her up the steeply sloped half-dune half-hill behind them. You turn around, hands gingerly grasping at the rough stone to steady yourself as you push up and onto your knees and lean just so to peer into the muddied dark, reading the dialogue off their lips in what’s left of the evening sun, the tone strained on Jades end and listless on Feferi’s.  


But they’re still holding hands; the tiny tan one with its chipped and chewed nails snugly embracing the broad gray palm and its dazzling spider fingers, careful of the tender webbing and the devious nails lacquered in their gorgeous royal purple. They’re talking of what was – of what Earth and Alternia both held for them, and from this distance you can barely read the details you so desperately want. Jade says “Becquerel” and you freeze, strain your eyes harder in the fading light, uselessly rising onto your tip-toes to be just that much nearer to their words and ignoring the way your chest scrapes painfully on the edges of the stone. She never talks about him anymore, not to you, at least, and it isn’t hard to figure out why, what with the whole Jack Noir thing. Anything that falls from her lips now is a secret you want in on; another piece of her past that makes her _Jade_.  


You don’t get much more out of their exchange before the sky consumes it’s extravagant colours and drenches itself in soot and countless eddies and vortex streets of stars and constellations you could never hope to name. You shouldn’t feel so jilted at the loss of their conversation, especially considering how immoral your spying is, but you do, and that annoys you almost as much as the nightfall. In the dim radiance of the night sky and pallid partial moon you can only watch their irradiated bodies in the casual dance you’ve become so enamored with – the gentle ebb and flow of weary contact and tender sympathies.  


Feferi may not be the same as when she was alive, may not be as energized and cheerful as Jade once depicted her, but the bitter pall of death definitely lifts in your sister’s presence. If you ignore the still seeping hole through her chest, the tyrian tears that stream endlessly from it and drift down her stomach and thighs in gory rivulets in contrast with the waxy grey, if you pretend her eyes aren’t such milky voids but replace them instead with topaz lining and paint the irises with the blood dripping from her lips you can see how this glorious girl should have been, could have been, _was_ once upon a time. If you can squint just so you can see who it was that Jade fell for, and every time you steal away into their private world your vision is just a bit more refined and the bitter dead Feferi, glamazon to-be ruler of an alien world you’ll never see, becomes more and more alive and giddy and everything Jade needs in a maybe-more-than-friend.  


You’re such an emotional little peeping Tom.  


They’re hugging now, and the slow gait of Feferis arms as she strokes Jades hair elicits something in you, and the din of your heartbeat is as deafening as your flush is warm. You really should look away. Respect their privacy. Ignore the lingering kiss she’s leaving to Jades forehead. The less than tepid press of her lips to her cheeks.  


You slide back down to the sand, back turned on the scene and heart pounding as you feel yourself beginning to wake up.  


You are such a pervert.


End file.
